


Still the Shirt Thief

by BeautyOnFyre



Series: Closet Commandeerer Series [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Agoraphobia, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, And More Angst, Angst, Full Shift Werewolves, Genderfluid Character, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mates, Miscarriage, Mpreg, Teen Pregnancy, Werefox Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 19:06:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4677971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautyOnFyre/pseuds/BeautyOnFyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles wasn't quite like the rest of the Hales. </p>
<p>He was a werefox. A werefox that had never changed from his fox form for as long as the Hales had known him. </p>
<p>And also a werefox that absolutely hated going to see the doctor.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>The much-requested sequel to The Shirt Thief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still the Shirt Thief

**Author's Note:**

> I really didn't anticipate the volume of response that I received when I finally did post The Shirt Thief. So, as a thank you to everyone who loved the first one, I present part two: Still the Shirt Thief.
> 
> Note:   
> Firstly, if you haven't read the prequel to this fic, I recommend that you do that now. Some parts may not make sense or appear out of context without reading it first. Secondly, this was written with the intention that Stiles was of age when he and Peter became mated (no underage). Also, be forewarned that this fic is tagged as angsty and hurt/comfort. Characters *will* suffer.
> 
> You have been warned.

"I need to shift to settle him. He responds better when I'm full wolf. Just show him on me what you're going to do to him. It'll help," Peter assured. 

Doctor Alan Deaton, veterinarian by day, Hale pack emissary by night, nodded to the werewolf standing before him in yet another v-neck shirt. Peter Hale was standing between the doctor and the nervous ball of energy that was Peter's mate - Stiles. Stiles, however, wasn't quite like the rest of the Hales. 

He was a werefox. A werefox that had never changed from his fox form for as long as the Hales had known him. 

And also a werefox that absolutely hated going to see the doctor, even after seeing him all these months while he healed from being ensnared in a hunter's trap. 

The trip today had been put off as long as possible on Stiles' part. The fox's smell had changed and Peter claimed that he had begun nesting in the closet, where Peter's wolf could fit too, rather than his usual haunt of under the bed. Four weeks prior, he had come out of his heat and had steadfastly been stubborn about leaving the house to get a check-up. 

Deaton respectfully averted his eyes as Peter stripped down and shifted, turning back to watch the play of muscles under the thick fur coat as Peter jumped to the examination table beside Stiles, nuzzling and scenting him. The wolf turned his eyes on Deaton and nodded his furred head to commence the appointment. 

To begin with, Deaton snapped on his gloves, receiving a growl from Stiles as his hackles rose. The answering growl from Peter was aimed at his mate, who quieted and wrapped his fluffed tail about himself. Deaton approached Peter, lifting his jowls to inspect his teeth, lifting his head to pull out his stethoscope and listen to the strong heartbeat in Peter's chest. He proceeded to feel down each of the wolf's legs for bone anomalies before Peter turned at a gesture from the vet and let the doctor press hands along his chest and belly. Stiles watched as the vet lifted the stethoscope once again to listen to his mate's belly before feeling around again. When the man was done, he took the stethoscope out of his ears and took a step back from the table. 

Stiles was still wary of the doctor, not completely trusting the man on general principle more than anything. He felt better knowing what was going to be done to him and, with a butt of Peter's head against his own, he stood on the table to be examined. He didn't like this though. Not one bit. 

He huffed out his reluctance at his mate who just nuzzled his muzzle into Stiles' own. Peter always made Stiles feel better. Like he was safe. 

Deaton waited until Stiles dipped his head in acquiescence before approaching the pair and repeating the same examination as he had just done, but with a verbal commentary. 

"Teeth are good, and your heartbeat is strong. Your front legs look good and your back leg has healed perfectly. No problems?" He looked to Stiles who shook his head slightly to indicate 'no'. "Good. I'm going to palpate your chest and stomach now. Let me know if there's any discomfort." His nimble fingers felt along the ribs, finding no abnormalities, and settled over Stiles' womb. "I can feel a bit of development here. I'm going to listen to see if there's a heartbeat, alright?" The vet smiled when he was met by several faint rhythms in his ears and met Peter's expectant gaze. "I can't confirm how many unless I do an ultrasound, but there's definitely more than two."

The doctor met Peter's gaze and asked, "Would Stiles be comfortable with an ultrasound?"

The two looked at one another and Deaton could see the exact moment when Stiles gave in, bowing to the will of his mate. "Give me a few moments to set up the machine."

 

***

 

"Three? Peter, that's wonderful news," Talia said as she held the picture from the ultrasound in her hand. 

"He's unsure though."

"About what?"

"The… Viability of them. Stiles retaining his fox form makes Deaton less sure of how the babies will mature and their resulting physical form. He wants us there every week to check on growth rates and indicators. Species indicators," he finished as he got a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water from the tap. He took a long drink from it before setting it on the counter. "I will love these pups whether they're actual pups, kits, humans or anything in between." Talia watched her brother as he averted his eyes, "But I'm scared. I'm afraid that there might be complications. Stiles isn't big enough to carry three humans to term, Talia. What if-" 

"What if none of them survive?" Talia's heart hurt for her brother. "I can promise you that we will do everything and anything possible to help Stiles. He's pack and we love him like pack."

Peter noticed how his sister sidestepped the question. It seemed she didn't know either. Until they figured it out, Peter figured he should make up some food for Stiles and himself before checking on what had become of his previously immaculate closet. There was no use dwelling on what you couldn't control, he supposed. 

 

***

 

By the next month, it became apparent that the babies would not be following a fox's gestation period, nor a wolf's either. But the babies were developing more rapidly than a human child. At two months, the babies were more than half-developed but showed signs of odd development. Tails and fingers were forming on each fetus, to everyone's surprise. Stiles started to enjoy the visits to the vet and always fixated on the print-outs after they left the clinic. Peter began framing each one, hanging them in order along the wall above the bed in his and Stiles' room. The werefox still slept next to his mate in the bed every night, even though Peter could tell that he wanted them to sleep in the closet-den Stiles had made. 

At four months, Deaton said it wouldn't be long before the babies were ready. Stiles was huge and uncomfortable all the time, looking like he had swallowed a watermelon whole. At that point, Peter had found a small pallet for the closet to sleep on and changed every night to curl about Stiles in their den to the fox's delight. He could now hear the strong heartbeats of the babies as he wrapped around his mate protectively. 

With the babies so close to being born, no one was allowed into Peter's room, lest they get their scent near Stiles' den. 

At five months and a week, Stiles felt like something wasn't quite right. He could still feel his babies' movement so he brushed it off, curling up with Peter for the night. The next day he woke Peter up in a panic, chattering at him to tell him something was wrong. Very wrong. 

The drive to the clinic was the second worst moment of Peter's life, followed by the worst yet. 

"I'm sorry. One of the babies is gone. I think it's umbilical cord must've detached."

"But-" Peter was devastated. He looked at the three spots on the ultrasound, two moving and one still and silent. 

"These things happen sometimes. There's nothing you or Stiles could've done to prevent this or save the baby. To try to save that one child would've meant emergency c-section, which might've endangered the other two and Stiles. This is more common in multiple births. It's hard but it happens. I'm sorry for both your loss." Deaton wiped away the jelly from Stiles' distended belly and stepped back. "I'll give you two some time," he said quietly before backing out of the room. 

 

***

 

Stiles was still consumed in his grief a week and a half later when he felt it. Peter had just come into the room, pulling off his shirt and shucking his jeans so he could transform and curl around his mate for the night when Stiles let out a yowl of pain. He froze, then hastily pulled his jeans back up as he heard the incessant chattering that was Stiles panicking. 

He skidded across the hardwood floor to the closet and saw Stiles meet his gaze unwaveringly - it was time. 

 

***

 

Stiles had elected to have the babies at the clinic. Peter liked to think that the logical, human part of Stiles' brain agreed that if something went wrong, the clinic had all the equipment that Deaton needed to save him or the pups. Realistically, it had been the fox's instincts to keep everyone else away from his den that pushed the decision in favor of having the babies at the clinic. 

After a few hours of pacing and pain, Stiles finally settled himself on the blanket Peter had brought and laid out on the floor. When the first pup came out, Peter was silent. He reached for the child, cradling it to his chest, uncaring of the fluids still stuck to it. A boy, he noted as he looked it over, had ears, some fur and a tail like a fox but looked much the same as a human, otherwise. The child was silent, no heart beat to be heard, with the umbilical cord hanging limply from its belly. The cord had completely detached before his birth and Peter mourned the loss of life before it had even had a chance to breathe its first breath. He showed the baby to Stiles, who nuzzled the child with a whine and Peter laid him next to the fox's head. Stiles continued to push, whining with the pain as the second baby was delivered, looking just like the first with thin, matted fur, but, unlike the first, this one squirmed, eyes shut and mewling constantly like a baby kit. Deaton cut the umbilical cord and placed the babe beside it's brother. Stiles licked at the pups, cleaning them, before resuming the delivery of their third pup.

Peter sat beside him, running his hand through Stiles' fur and whispering encouragement to his little mate. The last one came out without much trouble but Peter immediately knew something was wrong. "I need you to keep Stiles calm," was all the vet offered before wrapping the third baby in a towel and making a rubbing motion on its back then it's chest. He would stop a moment, listen, then resume the rubbing. Peter saw Stiles moving but held him down. 

"He's trying to help. Stiles, baby, calm down."

Peter strained to hear and could faintly make out the pup's pulse dying away. It wasn't breathing even as Deaton carefully blew air into its lungs. The heart beat stopped and the vet continued rubbing it's chest to try to coax a rhythm back into its heart. He stopped after a few minutes, holding the still child to his ear and not hearing anything. He returned to Peter and Stiles' side and laid the pup alongside the other two that Stiles had licked clean. 

"I'm sorry for your losses," he offered his condolences as the parents looked at the three babies lying next to their mother's still-distended womb. Only the one moved at all, scrunching up his fists and moving his tail. The third child looked more wolf than the other two and maybe that had been the source of the complications. Three boys, only one survived. Stiles nudged the third baby, like he couldn't quite accept that their other child was gone. 

"Stiles," Peter tried as the fox kept nosing at the third boy. "Just-" the werewolf couldn't hold it together anymore and transformed into his wolf. The wolf walked in a circle about his small family and laid so that he enclosed the three babies between his and Stiles' fur. He licked at his mate's muzzle and let out a forlorn howl of mourning before resting his head on the rusty orange of Stiles' own. 

 

***

 

Stiles became depressed. He fed their son, watched as he learned to crawl, was attentive, knowing that the kit-human hybrid would be deaf and blind for his first few weeks of life. But Peter noticed how he often found him sitting in the window seat, staring dejectedly out at the edge of the woods where twin graves stood marking the resting place of the two children that hadn't lived long enough to see the beauty of the forest. 

He didn't want to do much of anything after the pups were born and Peter felt it weighing on him just as heavily. As the first month passed, Stiles was willing to let the baby sleep in a crib in their room, letting the parents curl up on Peter's bed like before. Only then could Stiles convince himself that he was back before his last heat. That it was just him and Peter. That all his grief was an illusion. 

The illusion shattered when the baby would cry and Stiles nimbly leapt from the bed to the crib, climbing in to comfort his child. 

 

***

 

Three months after the birth, Peter arrived home and entered his room to find a naked boy wrapped in his bed sheet sitting on the window seat. The hair was long, chocolate locks in a twisted mess, and when he turned his face, a smattering of dark freckles decorated his face. 

"Stiles?"

He turned to look at Peter. "Hey," his voice cracked a little and held a gravelly quality to it. 

The face was pale, young and haunted as he moved to make space on the window seat for Peter. The werewolf halted him, walking to the window seat and lifting the younger man to sit in his spot and settle him back on Peter's lap. 

He couldn't help the hand that carded through Stiles' thick tresses in wonderment and soulful, whiskey eyes met his. "God, you're so-"

"-pale?"

Peter chuckled. "I was going to go with young, beautiful, stunning-"

"That's a first," he mumbled self-depreciatingly. 

"How old are you?"

Stiles repositioned himself against Peter's broad chest. "Eighteen. Nineteen in a few months."

"God." Peter tilted his head back to rest against the wall. It was a miracle that the kid had delivered any of their children at all. Male teen pregnancies were known throughout the werewolf communities as having a horribly low chance for producing viable, healthy babies and being dangerous for the teen. "If I had known," he muttered, wrapping his arms more tightly around this precious being.

"Do you hate me?" 

"No. I could never," Peter was quick to reassure. "I just- if I had known you were so young, I never would've entered that basement. Wouldn't have let my sister send for potential heat mates either. God, we're lucky you even survived, let alone our kit."

"Why haven't you named him yet? It's been three months and you just keep calling him pup or kit. He needs a name," Stiles chastised. 

Peter smirked, "I was waiting for you. In my family, the mother names the first born."

Stiles jabbed a finger into his side, "What if I'm feeling spiteful?"

"Then our son with be saddled with quite the moniker for his entire life, or until he gets old enough to change it himself."

"I hated my name. No one but my mom and, after a lot of coaching, my dad could pronounce my name. I like simple names." Stiles spoke with a scrunched brow like he was thinking. "Kit. I like it, actually."

"For a name?"

"Yes. Kit John Hale. What do you think?"

"It's good. If he hates his first name, he can always go by his middle name. Why John?"

Stiles leaned up and kissed Peter's cheek. "My dad's name. I haven't seen him since my first shift when I got stuck. He thought I was a feral animal and shot at me."

"Where does he live?"

"Here." Peter reeled for a moment. Stiles was from Beacon Hills? "He's the Sheriff."

"John Stilinski is your dad?" he asked incredulously. 

"Yep. I miss him but never found a good time to turn back. I was always on the run from hunters and lost control of my shifting ability a lot so I stayed a fox. I haven't been back here for four winters, I think. It's been a while. I stayed as a fox for the three years before you found me in that hunter's snare. It was easier and safer than being a human." Stiles remembered the first night out in the cold. How he was almost certain that he would freeze to death without ever being able to figure out what he was. Twelve years old, alone, scared, and stuck in a foreign body, Stiles had dug up some leaves and buried himself under them in a mimicry of a blanket that night and shivered until his joints ached. 

"You know that he's still looking for you, right? He never let the station declare you dead. Your missing child poster is still up at the station, and all public buildings in the county. If you want, I could bring you to him."

Stiles looked away from the window to their son lying in his crib asleep. "But how would we explain Kit? Human boys can't have children. He would take me away, or worse, arrest you for something crazy. I need to be here. For Kit, for you, for the rest of our pack. I can't leave our family - not after wanting one for so long." He lifted his gaze back to where Peter was watching him with nothing but love and pride. "Am I a bad person, Peter? For not wanting to, you know, go back?"

Peter pulled his young mate close and searched his eyes for hesitation before kissing him like he had wanted to for so long. His hands were clenched in the sheet covering Stiles' hips as they breathed each other in. Peter pulled back first, nuzzling into the creamy white skin of Stiles' elegant neck. "No, you're not. That doesn't make you a bad person."

The air was still between them as Stiles whispered back, "Then what does that make me?"

Peter grinned as he bit down on the mole-dotted junction between neck and shoulder. Stiles gasped, digging sharp finger nails into Peter's shoulders as he clutched at his werewolf. 

"Human," Peter replied succinctly as he marveled at his handiwork. The bite didn't pierce the skin like their true mating bite had, but Peter was infinitely pleased by the red imprints of his teeth left on the younger man's skin. 

 

***

 

Stiles stayed like that for a few hours before shifting back into his fox form. Every day he started to spend more time in his skin, working with Peter to stay in control of his fox. They hadn't let anyone else see him yet, as Stiles started having panic attacks at the idea of leaving the room. The overwhelming panic made him burst into his fox form like a kernel into popcorn. 

Watching his beloved became harder by the day. When Peter would go downstairs for pack interactions, Stiles would reluctantly hand over Kit and kiss his mate before retreating from the door and folding into himself. Sometimes, hours later, he would find Stiles in the same fetal position he had tucked himself into, eyes unseeing as they blinked. 

When Kit was five months old, he started retracting and growing his fox features, shifting between a giggling human baby and a miserable fox hybrid. It was at this point that he finally figured out something to distract Stiles. 

The books let out a slam that made Stiles flinch when they dropped onto Peter's desk. "You need to study for your GED. You're too intelligent to sit here every day and let your potential waste away. I don't care if you never get a job or go to college, I just need you to do this for me. Stiles," Peter gentled his voice as he gazed at the pale boy wrapped in another bed sheet as he had taken to doing all those months ago, "I just need you to have options. Kit will be in school in four years and I want to give you the opportunity to do the same."

"You would let me? Go to school?"

"Yes. Of course. Whatever makes you happy, Love." Peter caught his mate when Stiles launched himself into the older man's arms. The bed sheet slipped away as Stiles kissed every inch of Peter's face whilst giggling. 

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Peter halted the assault with a kiss to the pale pink lips before him. "I just want you to be happy and successful. I want good things for you, Stiles."

"I love you, Peter. I really do."

"I love you too," he replied back with a grin as he felt his mate squirming against him. 

"Peter?"

"Do you want down?" 

Stiles let out a breathy laugh and Peter smelled the influx of pheromones and lust. "No. I just-" he buried his face in Peter's neck where he bit down hard in frustration. "God. Make love to me? Please?"

"Are you sure? We haven't since your last-"

"I know. You're kinda driving me crazy, though. I'm sure. Totally and completely sure. I want this - me and you. I want it when I'm not in heat. I know you don't want to pressure me but I'm ready. It's been almost a year."

Peter nodded and touched his forehead to Stiles' own. The gesture was somehow more intimate than kissing ever would be. "Okay," he nodded against Stiles minutely before reverently laying his mate across their bed. Kit was with Laura so they had a few hours to themselves to make the most of. 

 

***

 

Stiles changed bit by bit after that. The first change was that he started opening the bedroom window to let in a breeze as he worked at the desk with Kit over his shoulder. Next, he found him in human form more, with Stiles even staying human through the night sometimes. After a month of steady growth and studying, he started stealing Peter's shirts again, but to wear this time. 

Peter noticed a pattern in his shirt thief. Stiles would only take long shirts and, after a while, started stealing dress shirts from the closet that he would wear while standing in front of the mirror with one of Peter's belts cinched about his small waist. He was developing a fashion sense. 

"I think I want clothes of my own," he said one morning as he buttoned up a silky black shirt before searching for a belt. 

Peter decided this would be the time to broach the subject with Stiles, if ever. "Do you want dresses?"

Stiles immediately looked back at Peter with a constipated look before lowering his gaze to his fingers. "Nah, those are for girls. Maybe just-"

"Stiles." Peter cut him off and drew the younger man's gaze. "If you want to wear dresses because they feel better or make you comfortable, you can." Stiles stayed silent and fidgeted a bit, looking unsure and conflicted. "I think you would look beautiful in anything," Peter muttered offhandedly. 

"Really? You don't think it's… Stupid? Disgusting? Wrong?"

Peter stroked his chin where Stiles had convinced him to grow a bit of a beard so he could see how it looked. "No. I would buy you a hundred dresses if you wanted them."

"But I'm a guy."

"I know. But you haven't been able to explore your human sexuality as you've grown over the last few years. Maybe you're more gender fluid now than you were seven years ago when you first changed," Peter explained. 

"And that's okay?"

"You're my mate, Stiles. That's pretty much a guarantee that I'll think the sun shines out of your ass no matter what you decide you are. My wolf and I fell in love with you as a fox, Stiles. I'm kinda game for anything that makes you happy, no matter how simple or crazy." Peter pushed the covers of the bed off of him and moved behind his mate, wrapping him in a warm morning hug. He proceeded to scent Stiles' neck before nipping playfully. 

Kit stirred in his crib and the six month old was all human this morning as Peter picked him up and settled the boy against his shoulder. "Good morning, handsome," he grinned at his son and got a gummy smile in return. "Wow, look at that smile! Who's happy this morning?" He scented the infant who babbled back the entire time. 

Peter would figure something out for Stiles, but for now, they all needed sustenance. "Will you come down for breakfast with me?" Stiles had gotten better since Kit's birth but his agoraphobia still kept him confined to their room. Peter always asked every morning, to let him know it was an option but not be forceful about the issue.

"I think I'll just start my biology readings. Bring me back some toast?" Peter would do better than toast. He always did. Stiles gave the man a kiss on the cheek as he took their son down to the kitchen for breakfast. 

Talia, Laura and Derek were already at the table drinking coffee and debating breakfast. "Good morning," he offered as Derek held his hands out for the baby. Though often reclusive and poker faced, his youngest nephew loved babies. Kit was no exception, either. He bounced the baby on his knee, mumbling nonsense back and forth betwixt each other as the other three watched momentarily. 

"Talia, Laura, I need help with something," he spoke before they could resume their previous topic of conversation. "I need to know where I can buy Stiles some dresses."

Laura lit up like a Christmas tree. "Really? We can go shopping! I really miss him. Is he okay? Is he used to staying human now? Oh! I bet he's gorgeous."

"I keep telling you he is. He's not ready to leave the room quite yet but he's getting better. He hasn't been a fox for two days now."

"Sounds like real progress, Peter," Talia was calmer than her daughter. "We can show you a few spots. Do you know what he likes?"

"Not really. Just an idea. He wears my longer shirts and cinches them at the waist with belts," Peter offered. His family truly had no clue what Stiles did day-to-day. He wouldn't open the door if someone knocked and no one but Peter would enter without permission. 

"Does he still have any pregnancy weight?" Laura asked, thinking of the perfect dress.

Peter shook his head. "Not at all. Super lean, long muscles, pale skin with dark hair and dark freckles."

Laura scrunched up her eyebrows. "Like all over his face how redheads usually are?"

"No, just a few, I guess, but they stand out. They look like an artist dotted them in by hand. He's just beautiful." Derek looked up at that admission and gave his uncle an assessing glance. A glimpse across the table revealed Talia doing much the same with a genuine smile. 

"Well, I think it's time for breakfast. French toast, I think," Talia said as she stood, taking her coffee mug with her. 

 

***

 

Peter came home laden with bags and dropped them at the foot of the bed. He found Stiles back in his fox form curled up around a snoozing Kit in the middle of the bed. He lifted his head as Peter came in. 

"Hey. I got you a few things, whenever you want to look at them." Stiles extracted his tail from Kit's chubby fist and butted his head against Peter's side at the foot of the bed. 

He jumped down to the floor before shifting. It was so sinuous and graceful, ending with a pale, naked Stiles sitting unabashedly on the floor waiting to see what Peter brought him. 

"Let me know if there's anything that you don't like. I'll take it back and find something else."

Stiles tucked his knees into his chest, "What if I don’t like any of it?"

"Then I'll try again until I get it right," Peter assured as he held out the first bag to Stiles. "Here."

The younger man hesitantly took hold of the plastic bag and upended it onto the floor in front of him. All the materials were silky or soft, nothing starched or scratchy, which Stiles liked. He picked up the first garment and his eyes went wide. "Woah," he whispered in awe as he stood to pull on the dress. The cream colored fabric slid over his body with thin straps that crossed behind his back and an asymmetrical hemline. "It's beautiful. And soft. I love it."

"It reminded me of your bed sheet dresses. I thought you might like it. There's more," Peter pointed to the other garments on the floor. A grey silky dress that draped every which way, and finally a dark blue cotton button-up with a thin belt. 

"It's perfect!" He exclaimed before clapping a hand over his mouth and looking at Kit who slumbered on. "Thank you."

"There's two more bags to go through," Peter said as he reached down to retrieve them. When he looked back, Stiles was admiring himself in the mirror, cream-colored dress swishing from side to side in his reflection. 

Maybe tomorrow would be the day that Stiles left the room. 

 

***

 

Stiles didn't leave the room the next day, but slipped through the door beside Peter's ankles when the werewolf went to bring their son to breakfast three weeks later. Peter couldn't help his grin as he pulled the door shut behind him and walked the familiar steps down to the main floor. Peter put his finger to his lips to stifle his niece's sure-to-be-startling cry of welcome when her eyes moved down and spotted the fox weaving about her uncle's feet. 

He proceeded to tuck his son into the high chair and sat beside it, angling his chair and leaving enough room between himself and the table for Stiles to perch himself in Peter's lap. Kit fussed a bit to which Stiles immediately put his front paws up on the tray of the high chair and butted his head against Kit's to get their son's attention. Stiles began to wiggle his ears rhythmically and the boy quieted as he became mesmerized by them before sprouting his own and failing cutely to imitate the movements with a giggle. Stiles licked the round cheek closest to him and huffed a breath on the babe's face. 

Chubby hands lifted to catch in Stiles' fur and the boy clumsily bumped their noses in a gesture of affection. Everyone's attention then went automatically to Laura, who let out an involuntary 'aww' at the display. The sudden attention made her shrink back in her chair with a sheepish apology. Cora came into the dining room to count everyone before turning back to the kitchen, "Five including me and you. Plus Kit, I guess," the fourteen year old shrugged and went to the kitchen before returning with plates. 

"Did Derek finally grace us with his presence?" Talia teased audibly from the kitchen, expecting a grumble from her not-a-morning-person son. 

"No, he's still asleep. Stiles came down, but I think he'll just steal from Uncle Peter's plate like usual," she spoke casually, cool as a cucumber as her mother audibly dropped a pan in the kitchen at the mention of Stiles. Peter smiled but he still marveled at how Cora was the only child of Talia's that addressed him as 'uncle'. Steven, her oldest child that was a relief worker in Africa, was only four years younger than Peter with the age gap widening to six years with Laura, eight with Derek and ten with Cora. 

Cora placed plates around the table and made another trip to the kitchen for silverware. She smiled and stealthily nudged against Stiles when placing the fork, subtly adding her pack-scent to him. 

When Talia brought the food out minutes later, she held out a piece of bacon for Stiles to eat first before putting the plate on the table. "Good to see you up and about, Stiles. Pass the toast please, Laura," the alpha intoned softly when she seated herself at the head of the table. "Save some bacon and sausage for your father and brothers, girls. He should be home in an hour with Steven and Derek is stirring if my ears don't deceive me."

She glanced over at Stiles, curled happily in her younger brother's lap as he lapped at the grease-covered fingers that had just fed him more bacon. Peter diverted his attention to their son, who was doing an accurate imitation of a baby bird as he waited for another spoonful of sugar free applesauce. She watched as Stiles lapped at Peter's hand a bit more before nuzzling his nose under the large palm and covering the rest of his head with his bushy tail.

She smiled before returning to her plate and eating her eggs before they got cold and congealed. 

 

***

 

Stiles started wandering around the house again as a fox and, to Peter's wolf's delight, started playing with him in the yard outside on sunny days while their family looked on from the porch. The pair chased, leapt, and hunted one another in the tall grasses before falling together to the dirt, licking each other's muzzle affectionately. The grey wolf would grumble his contentment before getting up to fetch their son, carrying the child in the basket that Talia had procured for this occasion, and return for a family cuddle in the grass. Kit often sprouted his ears and tail once he saw his parents in their shifted forms, crawling over and fisting his tiny hands in the fur of the closest parent. 

Peter hoped Kit would achieve a full shift one day so he could run with the pack. It didn't matter if Kit was a werefox, the boy would be able to hold his own on a moon just like Stiles.

In those moments, the werewolf watched his mate and pup, wanting this forever - wanting to never leave this bubble of domesticity. Always wanting to have pups around and teaching them to walk on both two legs and four.

It was crazy to think that before he had found Stiles strung up in that hunter's snare all that time ago, he had never considered being a parent as more than a fleeting thought that he might laugh at. Now he couldn't imagine his life without it; without them. 

 

***

 

The memories haunt him sometimes. The bite. The fever. The disorientation.

Sounds of his dad waking and coming to check on him followed by rushed footsteps away from his door and, when he finally looked up, a glint of metal before a shot was fired. His instincts reacted and he moved out of range enough for the hair on his tail to bend as the projectile sailed past. He dove between his father's legs, not comprehending why he was so small or why his dad was shooting at him. 

He had to get out. 

 

***

 

Stiles woke to Peter shaking him while repeating, "It's okay, you're safe. Calm down. Shh. You're safe," and other soothing platitudes on loop. Instinct kicked in and he buried his too-large human body as much as he could under his mate's.

Peter would protect him. 

"Protect you from what, Love?" 

A whine escaped the back of the werefox's throat at the conclusion that he must've spoken his last thought aloud. 

Peter pulled the blankets that had been kicked away over them both and did his best not to knee anything vital as he flipped himself onto his stomach atop Stiles. "What is it?"

"Was," Stiles said firmly as he gathered his faculties and realized he was being irrational. His father wasn't there with a gun and everyone was safe. He still wrapped his arms about Peter's shoulders and pressed his forehead to the broad shoulder before him. "I feel better now. We can go back to sleep," Stiles tried to play it off. 

"What do you mean 'was'?"

His brawny mate wasn't going to let it go. "What was it, not is. It was a memory. When I first turned. I was twelve and I woke my dad when I changed, I guess. He-"

"Got out his rifle and shot at you?" Peter interjected, remembering something about the story from the first time he met Stiles. His mate nodded against his shoulder. 

"I was so scared," he choked out as he started to sob quietly into Peter's shoulder. He didn't want to cry in front of Peter but couldn't help it. 

"It's okay," Peter's voice stayed low and he shifted his weight to one arm so he could stroke Stiles' hair with the other. "Just let it out. You're safe, Love. Nobody's going to hurt you here." He beamed at Stiles when the younger man pulled back with a watery smile.

Stiles felt like sprouting his fur and hiding but knew he needed to talk this one out. "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to cry all over you." He snuffled a bit, wiping his eyes hastily. "I never had to deal with this when I was a fox. I went three years without changing before I met you, you know? It was simpler. Just-"

"Your instincts. Yes. I get it. Probably better than most." Peter received an odd look before the older man extrapolated, "I was a rebellious teen. When I finished high school, I went into the wild to live as a wolf for a year. I almost went feral. Wolves aren't meant to be solitary creatures. We can't function like foxes can on our own."

"What was it like coming back?"

The werewolf rolled them both so they were situated on their sides and rubbed his thumbs over Stiles' cheeks to rid his pale skin of the tear tracks that still marked his grief. "Well," he began, "integrating back into the pack was easy. Integrating into society wasn't. I had a hard time differentiating between my wolf and human mindsets fairly often and ended up growling at people accidentally until my sister or someone from my pack would smack my arm to snap me out of it. I had to work at it a lot. It took me a little over a year to get back to my pre-sabbatical self but I had a better appreciation for my wolf on a whole. I was stronger for it all."

"No regrets?" Stiles asked as he buried his face into the pillow to go back to sleep. 

"Never," he affirmed as they hooked their ankles together. 

The beauty marks on Stiles' face were still visible with the limited moonlight that streamed through their bedroom window as the moon waned in the sky. An uncontrollable urge came over Peter as he kissed lightly as each of the moles before wrapping his younger mate in his strong arms. 

"I love you, Peter Hale."

"And I, you, Stiles Stilinski."

 

***

 

Stiles was reeling, wondering if he had heard Peter right. "Pardon?"

"I said that I think you need to consider getting closure with your dad."

"You mean contacting him?"

Peter nodded, stepping forward and pushing back the recently cut chocolate locks of hair from his young mate's face. Whiskey eyes met his own human blue as his hands continued to finger comb through the still-wavy but more wild shorter hair cut. Stiles had insisted that he wanted to look more like a boy after being unable to cut his hair for years and had shorn off all but a few inches. "You're nineteen now, almost twenty. He can't make you leave us if you don't want to. You're an adult, legally."

"Do you think that's a good idea?" Stiles was clearly apprehensive about the idea. 

"I think it's something you need to do. I know if Kit went missing, I would want to know either way if he was alive and I think you would too."

Stiles seemed to ponder this as he closed the half step between each other and melded his body to his mate's, slender arms wound about his broad shoulders and Stiles' face buried in Peter's neck. Peter could smell the anxiety coming off of Stiles in waves and walked them backwards to their bed. The pair, with minimal adjustment, cuddled together like they were one sinuous being - never knowing where one person started and the other ended. 

"But how do I explain to him - how do I tell him that it wasn't his fault? Peter, I'm scared. What if he hates me for being around all this time and not coming home?" Peter smelled the saline before he felt tears drop onto his neck and tightened his grip on the younger man. "I can't do this by myself." A heartbreaking sob was wrenched out of Stiles and Peter's wolf internally howled his shared pain. 

"Stiles, Love, your dad could never hate you. He will be happy to see you no matter what. Even if you were gone for twenty years, he would still want to see you again. No matter why or how your disappearance happened, I know he wants closure. No parent should ever live with that doubt," he said before kissing at every reachable inch of his mate. "I'll be beside you if you want me to. Whatever you need."

"What about what you need, Peter?" The werewolf was struck by the abrupt change in the younger man and held him tighter. "I know you love me but why do I get all the consideration here? Why is it only what makes me happy? Why do I only take as you continuously give?"

Peter grinned as Stiles pushed away from the bed to look him in the eye, not releasing his mate as Peter explained, "Because seeing you happy brings me and my wolf innumerable amounts of pleasure. Instant gratification at its finest, Love."

"Really?" Stiles' tone fell a bit flat with disbelief, watching his mate for any tells. 

"Is that so hard to believe? We both know that I'm selfish enough to make you happy so that I can be happy," he teased. 

Stiles' brows furrowed as he considered the rhetorical question. "One condition," he spoke shakily, arms tightening around Peter's chest while his hands clenched in the bed covers. "We have to go see him now. If I think about it more, I'll make myself sick and then I'll never go."

A quick kiss was planted on Stiles' forehead before Peter nodded, "Alright. Let's go. I need to make some calls."

The mated pair walked hand-in-hand down the hallway to descend the stairs, Stiles' body seemingly melded to Peter's entire left arm as he drew strength from his werewolf's touch. Peter nodded at Talia when they came into view on their way out the door. She held Kit on her hip and waved the pair off, knowing something significant was happening, but not hearing what through the soundproofing around the bedrooms. 

Peter grabbed his keys and unlocked the car, opening the door for Stiles, and rounding the car with his phone already to his left ear. Stiles didn't care to listen in on the other end when Peter was on the phone with what had to be the Sheriff's department. 

"Alright, no problem. Thanks for your help," he ended the call as they came into town and Peter diverted the car into the subdivisions rather than going to the commercial district where the station was. "He's at home."

Stiles nodded, not sure if he could speak. His tongue was heavy in his mouth and he did feel like he would be sick. Lean fingers clenched and unclenched in the fabric of his dark blue button down dress, shaky digits smoothing the material after in hopes that he wouldn't wrinkle it. "What if he thinks I'm a freak because I wear dresses!" The thought shot into Stiles' head and had him freaking out more. "You have to turn around and go home, Peter. I can't do this. Just turn around here and we'll try this another day," he pleaded but knew it was futile as their car pulled into a driveway that Stiles remembered all too well. He looked to the front window to see the curtains twitch with movement. 

"He knows we're out here, Stiles. We can't just leave now. He knows a Hale car when he sees one," Peter reasoned as he removed the keys from the ignition and stepped out. Stiles opened his door, careful not to hit the cruiser that looked newer than the one his father had back before Stiles had made his first shift. Peter came around the car as Stiles turned sideways in the seat and just breathed. 

"Just give me a minute. I'll be over there in a second. I just need to - y'know?" Stiles felt himself calm when Peter placed a consoling hand on the back of his neck to quiet his fox. 

"It's alright, take your time. Want me to wait here?"

Stiles shook his head 'no' and smoothed out his dress as his breathing evened out more. Peter moved around the cruiser, looking back at Stiles who was gathering more courage as he was met with the front door opening and the Sheriff in plain clothes standing just inside the house as he made it up the porch steps. 

"Peter Hale, to what do I owe the pleasure?" He asked as he extended his hand to shake, which Peter accepted. 

"I know, John, long time no see. I didn't come here for me actually," he said and heard the door to his car close. A look to the left revealed Stiles slowly walking around the front of the cruiser in the Sheriff's blind spot. "I actually brought someone to see you." He moved off the porch, hearing John follow him to the edge of it to see the slim figure in a dark blue dress with wavy hair that looked just like-

"Claudia." Stiles' eyes shot to his father's as he took Peter's hand and stepped forward. He couldn't miss the shock in his father's face. 

"Hi Dad. It's me." 

The pair watched as recognition came over the taller man's face and closed the distance between himself and his son in a few strides. "Stiles! Oh my God! Please don't let me be dreaming," the sheriff sobbed as he gripped his son just a little too tight. 

"No, Dad. I'm real. I promise I'm here. This isn't- it's not a dream."

Peter stood back, having dropped Stiles' hand when he saw John approach. He watched as John pulled back and surveyed his son's face with watery eyes. "You look more like your mother than you did before. You have her eyes." He pulled his kid back to his chest where Stiles started crying too. 

Father and son both gripped each other too tightly before pulling back and laughing at how the other looked. "Let's go inside," the Sheriff said after a minute, beckoning Peter to follow. 

The trio made their way into the house and Stiles immediately went for where he remembered the kitchen to be. He placed the old electric kettle to boil and dug into the cupboard by the stove to see the tea boxes exactly where they should be. He grabbed three mugs from the cupboard and placed a teabag into each one, remembering how the mug in the middle got that hairline crack all those years ago. He turned around to see his dad, and behind his shoulder, Peter, in the doorway with a grin. 

"You look good, son." And then the Sheriff got a constipated face, seeming to backpedal, "I mean, kid? I'm not trying to be all, y'know, about the whole," he seemed to choke on his words a bit, "dress thing. Whatever makes you happy," he assured as best as he could. 

"Oh!" Understanding dawned on Stiles, "No, no, no. I still- Dad, I still identify as a man. I promise I'm not transitioning on you here, no."

"It would be okay if you did," his dad interrupted. 

Stiles shook his head. "No, I know. But I'm not. I don't want to either. I love being a guy. No, I just- I feel more comfortable I guess in a dress? I don't know. I tried pants a few times and it was never quite right to me. Peter suggested I try a dress on to see if I felt more comfortable and I've been wearing them since."

The sheriff's brow wrinkled. "What were you wearing all these years if it wasn't pants?" Stiles realized his mistake as soon as he heard the tone of his father's voice. 

Over the sheriff's shoulder, Peter gave Stiles a 'what can you do, just tell him' look which Stiles huffed a sigh at as the kettle whistled and switched off. He dutifully poured a cup out for each man as his dad started to get antsy. "Stiles?"

"Let's sit down. I need to tell you everything."

"What does 'everything' mean?" 

"Sit down, Dad, it's a long story and I have to start from the beginning."

"And where is that?"

With a huff, Stiles situated himself at the table in the same spot that he had always occupied as a kid and had caught Peter's sleeve to drag him to the chair on his right instead of the head of the table. The sheriff gave an involuntary grin at his son's undying need for routines and consistency like he had years ago. Some things never changed. 

"Remember how I used to walk to school? And when I saw a stray animal I'd always try to take it with me to get it help and I'd want to keep it as a pet?"

"How could I forget? I still remember the kitten that tore up the drapes," his dad countered. 

Stiles had the good sense to blush, "Right, well the day before I disappeared, I saw a wounded animal on the side of the road. When I went to see if it was still alive, it shot up off the road and bit me on the arm before it ran off into the trees. I mean, my arm was bleeding everywhere."

"Really? That's how it happened? You never told me that," Peter muttered, forgetting that John was there for a minute.

Stiles looked to his right and gave Peter a look. "You're not helping." He turned back to his dad on his left to continue. "This is where you'll have to temporarily suspend disbelief. The bite completely healed before you got home. I came in, took off my hoodie which was ruined, and went to the bathroom to clean my wound up. I ran it under the tap and it was gory. The fox had done a good job on my arm."

His dad immediately jumped in, "A fox? They're usually so afraid of humans, are you sure?"

"Yes! I'm sure! Now would you both stop interrupting?" Both older men felt properly chastened as Stiles continued after a sip of his lemon tea. "I covered the wound but when I checked it later, before you got home, it was completely gone. I didn't understand it but my twelve year old, Adderall riddled brain was like 'score, Dad doesn't have to know I'm an idiot' and then I started feeling sick so I went to bed early. I remember you coming in to say goodnight to me and kissing my forehead." John's eyes crinkled at the corners, clearly thinking of the last time he saw his son in close to seven years. 

"I never left the house that night, dad. I just… Changed." John looked dubious at best and it made his eyebrows scrunch together like fuzzy caterpillars trekking across his brow line. "I was bitten by a werefox and I became one in turn. The fox you shot at the next morning was me. I had no clue why you were yelling and raising your gun to me."

"What? Stiles, are you on something?"

Peter nudged him from his other side with a murmured, "Show him."

Stiles stood back from the table, chair scraping against the hardwood floor minutely, before he changed. The transformation, unlike Peter's own, was so quick and sinuous that Stiles had to dig out of his dress to see his mate and father watching him. He started to feel uneasy until Peter moved his chair out enough for Stiles to jump up and curl into his lap. 

John was more than a little shocked as he watched his formerly human son sitting on Peter Hale's lap, chattering quietly and bumping his nose to the older man's own before burrowing into the jacket he wore. His head popped out again once he had situated himself happily against Peter's upper chest, ears pressed down against the underside of Peter's stubbly chin. Stiles might never say it but he secretly loved the stubble and wished Peter would grow a beard. 

"And what about you? Are you a fox too?" John nodded to Peter, looking like he needed a stiff drink. 

"Werewolf. Most of my family is too. That's why you don't get animal attacks around here despite all the surrounding forests. We take down or run off any threats in our territory," a handful of claws appeared before Peter shifted back to his human fingers. 

John sat back in his chair, overwhelmed by it all. "How long have you been here? Why wait until now to come home, Stiles?" He looked at his fox shaped son who burrowed deeper into Peter's jacket. Hiding himself away from his father's questioning gaze felt better than shifting back to just disappoint him. 

"I found him in the woods. He was caught in a hunter's snare and I got him to safety before the hunters could find him. He had an injured leg and I took him to Deaton to get fixed up," Peter explained. 

"How long ago was that?" John asked, trying to remember if Stiles had looked injured at all. 

With a sigh, Peter looked down to his little mate who stared back at him with yellow werefox eyes. "About two years. He's only been a human again for about eight or so months though. He needed to get a handle on his shift and humanity before he could come see you. You wouldn't have believed me if I had come over with a fox and said it was your son." Peter heard a thankful sounding chatter as Stiles nosed between the buttons on his shirt to smell Peter's bare skin. 

"Two years?" The sheriff took a forlorn sip of his tea before looking back to Peter. "Has he been healing the whole time?"

Peter winced and nudged Stiles a bit from his spot. "I think it's time to change back, Love." He didn't miss the narrowed eyes the sheriff sent his way nor the clenched fingers about his mug. Stiles reluctantly removed himself from Peter's jacket and took his dress in his teeth, dragging it with him to the kitchen. 

Stiles came back and held out his hand expectantly to Peter. "Phone," was all he prompted before Peter knew where this was going. He pulled it out and opened his photo app before passing it over to Stiles. Stiles smiled as he scrolled through the pictures but settled on a fully human Kit and Stiles in his cream-colored draped dress both smiling wide at the camera. The picture had been taken a week ago and the resemblance was there. 

Stiles slid the phone across the table. "I'm an omega werefox. It means I'm fertile, dad. I can have kids. I-" he looked back at Peter who looked at the photo on his phone with undisguised pride, "we have a son. His name is Kit John Hale. We're so lucky to have him, that he survived. It was- a hard pregnancy for me. I know it's a lot to accept and understand, but you're a grandfather and I want you to be in his life. And mine."

John stayed silent for a long while, staring at the photo with an unreadable expression. The screen began to dim and he tapped it to light up again, accidentally swiping to the next picture in the process. The next one was a sleepy fox Stiles curled in Kit's crib for an afternoon nap with his son. John swiped again. Peter kissing Stiles' cheek. Another hasty swipe revealed a video that he tapped to play out a video of Kit playing with his blocks and then sneezing and popping out fox ears and squirming until his tail was better situated before he kept playing.

"He's a fox too?"

"We don't know. He was born human with a fox tail and ears. His two siblings looked similar."

"There's more?" John looked hopeful. 

"They were miscarried. We were lucky he survived at all. I was supposed to have triplets. All of them were boys. They were beautiful, dad," Stiles started welling up with tears. 

John took a look at his son and stood from his seat to embrace him. "I understand. Your mother and I almost lost you twice, you know." He met Peter's gaze over his son's shoulder and nodded to him. He wasn't exactly happy about this but Peter was taking care of Stiles and that was what mattered. Stiles was safe. "I'm still just happy that you're okay. You're home. There's no more wondering if you made it or if you are happy," John stopped mid thought and pulled his kid back at arm's length to scrutinize him. "You are happy, right? There's no coercion or-"

"Dad, no. No, no, no, stop. Hold up. Just stop right there, no. I'm happy. I'm still dealing with grieving but I'm better. A lot better. For months I wouldn't - couldn't - care about anything except Kit. Peter is just-" Stiles cut off to look over his shoulder to the blue-eyed older man that ensnared his heart and senses completely. "He loves me and I love him. My fox could never want anyone else and I don't think his wolf could either." Peter shook his head in confirmation. 

The sheriff released his son and stepped over to Peter, taller than him by a scant few inches. The men shook hands before John spoke, "And when do you intend on making an honest man of my son?"

"Dad!" The exclamation was squawked out as the younger Stilinski flushed pink.

"As soon as we can get him legally situated, if he'll have me. My understanding is that we have to make an official police report when concerning a missing persons case."

"Right. I guess we should head down to the station then?" Stiles just hugged his dad and buried his face into his shoulder. 

"I love you, Dad," he mumbled into the same broad shoulder that he had rested his head on innumerable times in his childhood. 

John just squeezed his teenage son a bit tighter into the hug. "I'm so glad you're safe, Stiles."

 

***

 

Kit knew something was different about the man in front of him. His parents had handed him over to the older man that smelled like his mother-dad but not like pack. The baby was confused whether he should be happy or cry for rescuing. 

He settled for making the man smell better by drooling all over his shirt and touching his hands to every part of the new man's face. And oh, did he like the funny shapes that face contorted into. He giggled helplessly and couldn't contain his excitement as he felt the need to tell the man before him how fun he was. A look over at mother-dad and father showed that they thought the new man was just as funny. Alpha came into the room and touched a hand to each of them, making them all smell better. 

After all the excitement, he decided to take a nap against the new man's shoulder since he was warm and smelled better now. He was tired from his long, exciting day meeting the new man that smelled a bit like mother-dad. 

 

***

 

"Mamamamama," Kit was his bubbly self that morning as Stiles came to the side of his crib. 

"Momma, that's right," he praised as he lifted his son from the crib and nuzzled his belly. The answering giggle made Stiles smile. "Such a smart boy. Aren't you? So intelligent!"

"And adorable like his Momma," Peter smiled from the bed. 

"You know that I'd rather him hear how smart he is, right?"

Peter rolled his eyes, "Yes, yes, empowering him at an early age through intellect rather than vanity. I remem-" Peter stopped then, sniffing the air audibly. "Stiles, when did you last take your suppressants?"

"What are you-?" Understanding dawned on the werefox as he handed their son to Peter and retreated to the bathroom. "Shit!" He found the blister pack of herbs that Deaton had given him with the express instructions to not forget for any reason for more than 40 hours. There in the box sat the three days worth of herbs that he had forgotten to take with everything that had been happening over the previous week. "Can you smell it already?" Stiles asked as he walked out of the adjoining bathroom, leaning against the door frame in a pair of Peter's boxers. 

"You smell sweeter. Ripe. It's coming, alright." He looked down to Kit in his lap who just happily sucked on a pacifier that his father had procured for him as he attempted to roll onto his front and crawl across the bed. "What do you want to do?"

Stiles was confused. "What do you mean?"

"I'm asking how you want us to deal with this. Do you want to go it alone? Do you want me there? Do you want me to take inhibitors? Or see if Deaton has any you could take at this point?" Peter watched as Stiles grew more confused. "Come sit down. I'll explain." Stiles sat down after snatching up the throw blanket from over the back of the rocking chair. He settled at the head of the bed beside Peter and leaned into his side. 

"Your options aren't just mate or suffer alone, Love. And this is one hundred percent your body, your choice. I will support you no matter what you choose and help in any way possible." He pressed a kiss to Stiles' temple before continuing. "You can go it alone like we tried before. I'll make sure that you get a supply of whatever you want when you're down there but I won't come down. You can even have Talia visit you if you think it'll help."

"I can't do that again. It was just painful and miserable. I never want that to happen ever again."

"Alright," Peter continued, "no solo heats." Kit had managed to right himself and was crawling over Peter's leg before latching onto it like he had hunted and trapped his prey. The infant seemed content to stay there so neither parent bothered him. "Alternatively, I could get shots, like those that they give to teens when they get play-mated if their parents don't put them on suppressants or if their pack doesn't have access to an emissary to get them. I can be there to comfort you but I would be impotent."

Stiles pulled back from his shoulder to look at him wide eyed, "As in-"

"Unable to get it up? Yes. With how your heat was last time, I might have to get a secondary dose after the first few days to make sure it outlasts your oddly persistent heat."

"What if it doesn't help? What if it gets worse and lasts longer? That's what happened last time. Your shirt got dropped in and it made everything better for a bit before everything just got so much worse. I remember hating the door. The need to get to the other side of it as my insides were on fire. Like I had swallowed burning hot coals." Stiles smelled worried again. 

"It's alright, Love. We'll make an agreement if you want that. If you outlast the second shot, we can mate or I'll leave. There's options. Or we can go see Deaton today to see if he has anything that will stifle the effects at all. Or, lastly, we can mate. It's your choice. If you think you're ready for more children, I will be with you every step of the way like last time. If not, my feelings aren't going to be hurt and we'll figure something out."

"You think I've got a few days?" Stiles asked. 

Peter nodded, "I do but I think we should go see Deaton today no matter what. He needs to know what's going on in case something else happens."

Peter moved to get up, kissing his mate's forehead and unlatching Kit from his thigh before shuffling to the side of the bed when Stiles stopped him with a hand on his arm. 

"I know what I want to do."

Peter just looked back at his mate, unconsciously holding his breath as he shifted Kit against his chest. "You don't have to decide now," he assured. Stiles held his arms out to take Kit, and Peter scented the boy before passing him to Stiles without a fuss. Kit stood on unstable legs on the bed with Stiles supporting him under the arms as the baby bounced a bit and giggled around the pacifier.

The werewolf felt his wolf rouse at the sight of his mate rearing their cub. The throw blanket slipped from about his shoulders as Kit bounced in his hold and Peter couldn't help the fond warmth that coiled in his stomach at the scene. 

"I've already decided," Stiles looked from their grinning toddler to his mate with a calmness that he couldn't remember ever exuding until now. "I know what I want."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, you beautiful people! Couldn't have written this one without all the encouragement and your heartfelt reviews. I appreciate you all!


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